


The Beast

by Rethira



Category: Original Work
Genre: F/M, Fairy Tale Retellings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-27
Updated: 2013-11-27
Packaged: 2018-01-02 20:05:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1061038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rethira/pseuds/Rethira
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She goes to the Beast because she has no choice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Beast

**Author's Note:**

> there are some unsavoury implications in this

The first thing she says to the Beast is, “I came because they would kill my father otherwise, and I cannot bear that.”

The Beast asks, cagily, “Come to do what?”

She folds her arms and says, “Why, to break the curse of course.”

 

The Beast is almost eager – he bounds ahead of her like a puppy, babbling excitedly all the while. He pauses only to let her catch up; she’s tempted to scratch him behind the ears. Eventually he comes to a halt, or at least restricts himself to pacing in front of a pair of ornate doors.

“These will be your rooms,” he says, when she’s close enough. “I hope you like them.”

She smiles and murmurs, “I’m sure I will.”

And in fact she does. They’re clean and well appointed; the bed is soft and warm, there are luxurious plush armchairs framing a modest fireplace, and a set of glass doors open onto a small balcony. The view promises to be breath-taking; as it is, the moonlight glints prettily on the lake and casts deep shadows where the forest starts.

In the night she wakes to someone scratching at her door, a plaintive whine sounding softly, and she isn’t so very alarmed to find the Beast asleep there in the morning.

 

He looks monstrous of course. There are horns upon his brow, an animal muzzle and more teeth than she cares to count in his jaw. His ears remind her of the puppy she used to have; one pointed, one floppy. He’s several feet taller than even the tallest person she’s ever seen before – he has to duck through certain doorways, or where the lights hang low. He has a tail, like a wolf’s, and paws large enough to crush a man’s skull. He’s covered all over in thick russet fur, and a mane frames his great head. His eyes alone betray his humanity.

But there’s a difference between _looking_ monstrous and _acting_ monstrous.

He rests his head in her lap while she reads, and rumbles contentedly when she scratches his ears.

The Beast isn’t so very beastly.

 

It’s warm and sunny out, so she takes the Beast down to the lake. He leaps in, more like a dog than anything else – he even shakes like one when he gets out, although he’s careful not to shake too close to her.

When she moves to join him in the lake – stepping out of her dress – he covers his eyes with his paw, trembling, and says, “You shouldn’t- you shouldn’t do that around me.”

She laughs gently. “And why not?”

The Beast ducks his head and mumbles, “It’s indecent. Only your husband should see you... like that.”

His ear twitches when she rises from the lake. He only turns to face her when she touches his shoulder, and he immediately shuts his eyes.

“Perhaps we should be wed then,” she says.

 

There are no human servants, and they cannot leave the Beast’s castle, so she takes him down to the chapel and leads him through their vows. Laughter fills the little chapel, however briefly; there’s no dramatic transformation, and she can see the disappointment in him, but it melts away when she tucks her hand into one of his huge paws.

“Come with me,” she says.

 

Every morning she wakes the Beast up with a whisper – “We live as man and wife.” He gives her looks of such joy it’s impossible not to smile. He smiles in return and laughs when she says, “How fearsome.”

Every night he curls close beside her, careful to keep his claws away from her bare skin. He’s warm enough that she only needs to pull a sheet over herself, and some nights she neglects even that. He gives off heat like a furnace, better than any fireplace.

It’s the beginning of idyllic days to come.

 

The leaves are turning red; she spends long days on her balcony, watching. The Beast dotes on her. He hovers, as unobtrusive as he can be, and she wants for nothing.

The leaves fall from the trees.

 

It’s late. She’s warm with recent exertion, despite the chill in the air. The Beast leans close, tucks his head over her shoulder and says, “I love you.”

“I know,” she murmurs, “I’m sorry.”

The knife slips easily through his heart.

 

The King sits idle on his throne. He looks up when she enters, startles when she drops the head at his feet.

“The Beast is dead,” she announces, to the silence of the court.

The King nods, his face pale. “Your father will be returned to you.”

 

She’s not seen about the land for many months after that. When she does reappear, two stories come swiftly after. One says that a russet furred hound follows close behind her; the other holds that she returns with a child with red-brown skin and eyes that can see into your very soul.

Only she knows the truth of it.


End file.
